


not as good as the real thing

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:07:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25516252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: "I think I want to sleep with a man," Jaskier says, staring up at the starry sky. It's an unexpected confession that pops out of nowhere, considering they hadn't even been talking before it.Geralt cuts his eyes at him from where he's settled in front of a rock near the fire, his sword across the smooth expanse. He sharpens his swords once every few days, and Jaskier picks tonight - for some reason - to share his revelation.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 35
Kudos: 861





	not as good as the real thing

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin
> 
> just a lil smth i wrote while i wasnt feeling the best - hope y'all enjoy!

"I think I want to sleep with a man," Jaskier says, staring up at the starry sky. It's an unexpected confession that pops out of nowhere, considering they hadn't even been talking before it.

Geralt cuts his eyes at him from where he's settled in front of a rock near the fire, his sword across the smooth expanse. He sharpens his swords once every few days, and Jaskier picks tonight - for some reason - to share his revelation.

He isn't looking at Geralt and for a moment he wonders if he's expecting some kind of terrible reaction, like disgust. Not all places are accepting of that sort of thing, but he hardly cares.

Actually, it is one of the few things he might be able to relate to, regarding the bard. 

He has always enjoyed the comfort of both men and women. Usually women for the ease of it, but he didn't have much of a preference, just took what he could get. 

But he doesn't say that, of course. 

"Well," he replies after a long beat. "Good luck with that."

Jaskier stares at him, eyes crinkled and sparkling with amusement. "Oh-kay," he says slowly, looking away again. 

Geralt assumes that will be the end of it, and that Jaskier will take care of his needs - or curiosity - in the next town. And he does; he notices when Jaskier disappears one night and returns in the morning, smelling of sex. Not the usual kind; he can smell the lingering scent of a man on his skin, musky and dark.

He almost wants to ask, "Did you enjoy it?", but he doesn't. Of course he doesn't. 

Jaskier sits on the bed and reaches for his lute, pausing. His eyes flicker to Geralt, mouth twisting, but he doesn't say anything and eventually just continues on, grabbing his lute - finally - and sitting back to pick at the strings.

Geralt doesn't have much to do, seeing as his swords have been sharpened recently, and he doesn't have a job for the night. He hasn't been as desperate for them lately, considering they have enough coin put up to last them a couple weeks. 

But he still misses them, feeling twitchy and useless just sitting around while Jaskier plays and hums under his breath.

"You're not going to ask," Jaskier says after a long while.

Geralt opens his eyes, having leaned back at some point, not quite sleeping but right on the edge. He smartly doesn't mention that he did want to ask, just hadn't because, well, it isn't his business (and, later, he'll realize the pit in his stomach also had something to do with it). "Do you want me to?" he asks instead, staring ahead at nothing.

He can feel Jaskier's eyes on him without even looking. "Kind of," he says finally, but he sounds unsure.

Geralt supposes he can indulge him for once. "Well. How was it? Just like you imagined?"

"Fine," he replies, too fast. "He wasn't - " He stops, and Geralt lazily counts the seconds. One, two, three, four. "Fine," he repeats, and Geralt doesn't push, even if he wants to.

For a man normally as chatty as Jaskier, this speaks volumes to his experience. His first time with a man had not been great, that much is obvious. 

"First times are rarely enjoyable," he remarks, meaning it.

He tries - and fails - to remember his first time with a man. He remembers the man, a skinny thing with green eyes and dark hair, swatting at his chest, hissing through his teeth with pain: "Slow down."

Jaskier shrugs and plucks at his lute. "I can always try again," he says casually.

Geralt's stomach does something funny - again - tight and churning like the sea, waves of discomfort. He doesn't think too long on it. He just feels for his companion, wants him to enjoy himself. "You can," he agrees, and that is the end of their conversation.

This is hardly their first time visiting a brothel together, but it is the first time Jaskier asks for a man. The bawd squints at him and for a moment Geralt prepares for the worst, to snatch Jaskier out of here at the first sign of trouble. But finally she just nods. 

"Any preferences?" she asks, lifting an eyebrow. 

Geralt doesn't miss the way Jaskier looks at him, brief and pinched, before he turns back to the bawd and smiles. 

"Muscular," he says breezily. "Long hair, if at all possible."

The woman looks at Geralt with an amused quirk of her mouth and he kind of wants to punch her. He doesn't, of course, but the urge is there. "It is very possible," she assures him. "And for you?"

Geralt thinks to ask for a man because maybe that's why he's been feeling this way, like there's an inch under his skin that he can't reach, but for some reason he hesitates. "Any woman will do," he says finally, and she nods, turning to look at Jaskier with something akin to pity. He frowns, not understanding, but before he can ask she is gesturing for them to follow her.

Jaskier is dropped off at a room first and Geralt just barely catches a glimpse of the whore before the door closes. The bawd was right; he is muscular with long dark hair and some scars of his own. 

Shaking his head, he continues on. She stops in front of a door far down the hall and assesses him for a moment.

"You're not very bright, are you?" she asks bluntly, and he bristles, both not expecting it and almost - impressed that she has the gall to say that. Sighing, she unfolds her arms and turns away. "Be gone by morning."

Geralt shakes it off, entering the room. The whore is a young woman, pretty and curvy with curly hair. He beds her, as expected, but doesn't actually find himself enjoying it much, not like he usually did, especially after so long. She seems to notice, sitting up after, watching him with an odd expression, but she doesn't say anything, just keeps watching him.

He kind of hates it. Sitting up, he reaches for the tankard by the bed, taking a sip. 

"I thought I hated nonstop talking most," he remarks, "but this is a close second, actually."

She startles, looking apologetic. "Just -- I don't usually receive people like you," she says, and at first he expects her to say something about his swords or his hair or scars, but -- "You don't want to be here."

Geralt cuts his eyes at her, unforgiving and harsh, but she doesn't wince. He has to applaud her for that. 

"Was I not up to your satisfaction?" she asks after a beat, tilting her head, so formal even as she sits next to him, nude and shameless.

Geralt almost smiles. Almost. "You're beautiful," he says, mostly because it's true. "I'm just -- not in the mood, I suppose," he says, looking ahead at nothing. 

Suddenly he thinks of Jaskier, and wonders if he's enjoying himself. If this experience has fared better for him so far. If that man - not unlike himself in many ways - was treating him with care, or fucking him like an animal. He wonders which Jaskier would prefer or ask for. He closes his eyes, and feels her hand on his arm, soft and strangely soothing.

"You don't have to pay," she says, and his eyes snap open.

"I will," he says without missing a beat, never having even considered that as an option.

She nods, pulling her hand away. They don't talk much after that, just sit back, pressing against each other, warm and a little sweaty. It isn't what he wants, maybe, but he enjoys it as much as he can. He barely even realizes he's fallen asleep until he opens his eyes, later, and the sun is just starting to rise. 

He grabs the blanket and tucks her in before sneaking out quietly with his things. 

Geralt pays the bawd and walks out, not surprised to find Jaskier waiting for him. His eyes are drawn to his neck instantly, peppered with marks. 

"Hm," he grunts, stomach churning.

Jaskier smiles, the edge of too bright. "Enjoy yourself?"

He debates telling the truth. "Yes," he lies. "You?"

Jaskier looks up to the sky and sighs heavily. "It was -- better," he says slowly, looking back down. "Ready to go?"

Geralt nods. After fetching Roach, and feeding her a few treats, they both climb onto her back and take off out of the town. Geralt is grateful for it; with each second, he feels the itch under his skin subside a little. He tries not to worry that Jaskier's arms, wrapped so tightly around him, has anything to do with it. 

A few weeks later, Jaskier disappears with a man while they are at a tavern, eating supper. Geralt frowns, and pretends to be upset because -- he just left, just like that, while they were eating, leaving behind an almost-full bowl of stew.

"Well, if you won't have it," he grumbles as he grabs the bowl, bringing it closer.

He watches as Jaskier walks out of the tavern, leaning into the man's side, and batting his eyelashes. Geralt presses his lips together, tight. 

He's pretty sure Jaskier hasn't slept with a man since that night at the brothel weeks ago; he's seen him with women, but no men. He supposes he understands the struggle; it is always easier to find a willing woman than a man. 

Geralt takes a spoonful of the stew and stares at it, surprised to find he isn't actually all that hungry. Huh.

Shaking his head, he stands up and grabs his bag, returning to their room. Jaskier isn't there, like expected, but his scent lingers, lavender and oak and honey all rolled together, pleasant and sweet. Geralt sits on the bed and flops back, feeling oddly keyed up and -- for what?

Closing his eyes, he drifts off. 

He opens his eyes to the door opening, a quiet creak. Sitting up, hair in his eyes, he sees Jaskier standing in the doorway, looking -- apologetic, of all things. 

"Hi," he greets as he closes the door. "Didn't stay up for me, I see."

Geralt narrows his eyes, bemused by the joke. "I thought you would stay the night with your - " He gestures lazily, thinking back to the man from the tavern, his broad shoulders and long hair, tied back at the base of his neck. 

"Oh," Jaskier says with a nervous little laugh as he walks forward, joining him on the bed. Geralt sniffs the air, hating himself, but needing to know and -- there it is, the scent of sex. His stomach churns, hands twitching, nearly forming fists. "He was decent, but." He tilts his head side to side. "Not nearly what I had hoped for."

Geralt stares at him, not understanding. "And what have you been hoping for?" he asks, genuinely curious, because Jaskier hasn't seemed pleased with most of his conquests with men. But he keeps trying, again and again. 

Jaskier smiles slightly, almost sad. Geralt has a million other questions, but he waits. "I don't think you want the answer to that," he replies softly. 

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't," he says quickly. "You know me."

Jaskier is still smiling in that same sad way that makes Geralt's feel -- bad, unexpectedly so. He sighs and looks away. "Have you noticed anything about the men I've been bedding, Geralt?" he asks. Geralt blinks, not expecting that, but he takes the question and tries - hard - to think of what he could be referring to. It is all pointless, apparently, because Jaskier continues before he can say anything, quiet: "They have quite a few things in common with you, don't you think?"

Geralt blinks again, definitely not expecting that, chest suddenly tight. "What?"

But, really, he knows what he's talking about - now - as he thinks back. Each man had been muscular, broad-shouldered, usually with long hair and scars. Not an easy type to find, he would think, but Jaskier had managed more than once. 

He lets out a humorless laugh, not looking at Geralt. "They look like you," he says, as if he needs to. "I thought, you know, I find you attractive - big deal. I mean, you are attractive," he says flippantly, and Geralt hates to admit that he would probably be blushing if that was still a thing he could do. "I think any person with eyes can see that, and so - I thought, logical conclusion: bed men with similar features, get it off my chest."

Geralt doesn't say anything, doesn't think he can. 

"But -- huh," he shakes his head, eyes closing. "Didn't work. Odd, right? I thought so, until I stopped being in denial and faced the truth." His eyes open, unusually dark. Geralt is pretty sure he knows what is coming next, and he's unsure of what to do, but then -- "I should go," Jaskier says, standing up. "That would be best for both of us."

Confusion is twisting his stomach, but one thing he knows for certain: he doesn't want that. He wants Jaskier to stay. His hands twitch. "Why do you say that?"

Jaskier still doesn't look at him. "I don't just want to fuck you, Geralt," he says, almost bitter, "as if that wasn't enough of a problem." He stares ahead, eyes blank and unseeing. "I realized, once I pulled my head out of my own arse, that I have feelings for you. Of the legitimate kind."

Geralt opens his mouth. Doesn't say anything, just opens it, feeling off-kilter and out of his element. Jaskier finally looks at him, smiling sadly. 

"This is hardly your concern," he says, looking away again. "I'll book my own room for the night."

Geralt doesn't understand much right now, but he doesn't understand that most of all. He jumps up and grabs his arms without thinking, moving on instinct. "How is not my concern?" he asks gruffly. "You having feelings for me?"

Jaskier sighs loudly, turning back to him with the saddest eyes he had ever seen. "Because I am an adult, Geralt. I can take care of myself. You do not need to entertain me, or comfort me." He gently pulls his arm out of Geralt's grip, patting the back of his hand. Geralt's skin burns at the touch, even long after Jaskier pulls his hand away, but not in a bad way, he finds. "I can very deal with my unrequited feelings on my own."

Unrequited. 

Geralt wants to reach for him again, feel the cool touch of Jaskier's hand again (he always had been quite cold to the touch, for a human). For once he wasn't wearing his gloves; he rarely did when he was settled for the night and it was just him and Jaskier. 

"You tried to fuck away your feelings for me," he blurts suddenly, blunt and tactless. 

Jaskier blinks at him once before he smiles a little, almost genuine. "Crude," he says, surprisingly soft, especially given the topic of conversation, "but true, I suppose, to an extent. I mean, I don't doubt I would've experimented with men eventually. I've always -- well, that isn't important." Geralt silently disagrees. "But all that doesn't matter," he continues. "You don't need the burden of -- "

His stomach churns, and he realizes - for the first time - that he's been a fool. The biggest fool ever, maybe. For not realizing Jaskier's feelings, certainly, but also for not realizing his own. He thinks back to every time he had seen Jaskier with a man, how he had felt. Unpleasant was an understatement, and then -- the bawd. She had known, somehow, long before he had connected the dots. 

"Stop talking like that," he interrupts. "Your feelings are not a burden."

Jaskier blinks, eyes widening briefly before his whole face softens. But every line of his face is still sad for some reason. "Oh, Geralt," he breathes. "Always so kind. If only the world could see that."

And he realizes that Jaskier still doesn't understand, probably assumes he is pitying him or something.

"Your feelings are not a burden," he repeats, and he hopes Jaskier will understand his next words for what they are: a confession. "And neither are mine."

The room is silent, and Jaskier stares at him for long enough that Geralt wonders if he has made a mistake, somehow misread the situation. But then -- Jaskier lets out an unexpected sound, a mix between a sob and a laugh. Geralt reaches for him, still unsure of himself but uncaring, needing to feel him. He wraps his fingers around his wrists, so thin. 

"Jaskier?" he prompts. 

Jaskier finally looks away. Down, to be exact, wiping at his eyes. "Um. Geralt, what exactly do you mean?"

Geralt wishes he knew the answer. He never has been a good liar, and he doesn't think he can miraculously change that. Instead of saying what he knows Jaskier wants to hear, or twisting the truth, he simply speaks how he feels, an uncommon occurrence for him but oddly freeing: 

"I didn't like seeing you with those other men," he says. 

Jaskier looks back up, an odd twist to his mouth. "Why? Because I really hope you don't harbor shame for men -- "

Geralt squeezes his wrist, and Jaskier gasps as if he had forgotten he was holding it, cutting himself off. "I've slept with many men, Jaskier," he says, and he gasps again, eyes wide. He looks like a deer, he thinks. 

"Why -- but I never -- " 

Geralt brushes his thumb over Jaskier's skin, and he stops again, biting the inside of his cheek. 

"I don't do it often," he admits, "because willing men can be hard to find, but I enjoyed those experiences." He shakes his head, looking off to the side. "My feelings -- the way I felt seeing you with those men; that had nothing to do with -- " He gestures, unable to find the words. He never can. "I think I was..." He hesitates, finally finding the word but too cowardly to say it.

Jaskier smiles, eyes sparkling with hope and just a hint of amusement. "Jealous?"

Geralt looks at him, pressing his lips together, tight. He nods jerkily, and Jaskier lets out a laugh of joy.

"You were jealous, Geralt," he says. 

Geralt kind of wants to punch him, but not nearly as much as he wants to kiss him. 

"Are you going to keep teasing me?" he grumbles, and he thinks his heart would be pounding if he was human. "Or -- " He steps forward and lightly puts a hand on his side. Jaskier is nearly his height, just an inch off at most, but his lean body makes him feel so much smaller, especially so close. "Do you want to shut up for once in your life?"

Jaskier takes a shaky breath, eyes a little wide. "We should, uh, probably talk more," he stammers, gesturing wildly. "I mean, we barely scraped the surface of -- "

Before he can finish, Geralt is leaning forward and kissing him. He knows it is a cruel tactic, but he is a cruel man. And Jaskier doesn't seem very upset -- not at all, actually; he kisses back with a happy sigh, cupping the side of Geralt's face, thumb lightly brushing his cheek.

Geralt pulls back, eyes flickering to Jaskier's mouth, wet and swollen. "We should talk more," he agrees because he knows Jaskier is right, there is a lot to unpack, but -- well. He reaches his other hand up, squeezing both of his sides. He shivers under his touch, eyes darkening. "In the morning."

Jaskier nods without missing a beat. "Right," he replies. "Yup. Sounds, uh, good. Morning."

Later, after they are both sweaty and sated, Geralt has to ask, somewhat anxious: "Well?"

Jaskier turns over - head on Geralt's shoulder - to look at him. He looks like something out of his wildest dreams, hair messy and eyes impossibly dark. "That was everything I had hoped for," he says softly, smiling a little. "And more."

Geralt nods curtly, chest tight. "Uh -- good," he replies lamely, and Jaskier just laughs, pressing a kiss over one of the many scars on Geralt's shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. Geralt soon joins him in his slumber, holding him close. 


End file.
